


Delayed Responsibility

by CodaDelta



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU- Steve was brought back early, Gen, Kid Fic, Kid Tony Stark, Protective Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-02-08 04:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12856506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CodaDelta/pseuds/CodaDelta
Summary: After a rude reawakening into the world in the summer of 1975, Steve was sure the world had no use for him. After tearful reunions with those who thought him dead, he was content to work at SHIELD whilst trying to make sense of the world 30 years after he left it.However, after a standard sweep training mission of a KGB warehouse turns up a child in a hidden research facility, he begins to expect that more is afoot than meets the eye, and perhaps he's not the only one to return from the dead.AU in which Steve is recovered early, is forced to take care of a traumatised five year old Tony Stark and figure out exactly who is telling which lies.





	1. A Rude Reawakening

**Author's Note:**

> What an awful title and dreadful summary. Thank you for clicking.

**February 1945**

The sound of the engines was almost deafening as the plane lurched forward, mile by mile, over the Arctic. Below, the white expanse of ice was broken only every few miles by fissures of blue, which flew by beneath what remained of the thick glass in streaks and blurs. The wind picked up loose shards of ice from underneath the plane, burning across Steve's face where the window had broken. Small flecks of glass had also come loose from the frame, and together they were making scratches over his hands and neck. He could feel them opening and then healing again. Before the serum, even small cuts like that would've taken days to heal, but now he could feel the full cycle within minutes.

His knuckles were white around the main direction control stick, his gaze straight ahead. The new skin which had grown over his recently bruised hands stung fiercely under the tight grip.  
The view before him burnt his eyes and he could physically feel the pounding of his heart in his throat. The sheer amount of adrenaline coursing through him was making him shake, like he always did after a fight.  
Back when he was a kid and Ma would put iodine on his scrapes after some jerk had painted his face black and blue, he would sometimes be shaking so bad it almost looked like godawful yellow facepaint on him. And when Bucky did it after she died, he would write four letter words with the swab on his arms. He had once accidentally forgotten to wash it off before work and something that looked like 'TUAT' had bled through his sleeve.   
But Bucky was dead. 

It had only been four days since he fell from that goddamn train but already it felt like years ago, though at the same time as if it hadn't even happened. The idea of James Barnes being gone from the world was one that he didn't think would process in his mind for years.

"Give me your coordinates, I'll find you a safe landing site." Peggy's voice over the radio was almost completely marred by static. It crackled in and out, and Steve had to physically swallow to keep his voice even as he replied.  
"There’s not going to be a safe landing. But I can try and force it down."

He wasn't even certain of it as a plan until the words were out of his mouth. He heard a small hitch in Peggy's voice and it caused a stab of pain in his chest. She was always so composed and together.  
"I’ll get Howard on the line, he’ll know what to do."  
He glanced at the readout again. Speed, coordinates, altitude, bearing, course, all blinking in and out.  
"There’s not enough time. This thing’s moving too fast and it’s heading for New York." Shit. There was no denying it; the longer they waited, the closer the bomb got to the city. He tried forcing the stick again, but it locked. It was more likely the stick itself would break than he would be able to pull the Valkyrie off course. But he could get it down, he was sure of it. There was a lock on velocity and bearing, but not altitude. Either it wasn't part of the autopilot- although the doodlebugs they had been sending over the English Channel and the North Sea disagreed-, or it was an emergency measure in case something went wrong so no one could target somewhere else, but they could do exactly what he was about to. He swallowed. 

"I gotta put her in the water." His voice was steady, considering the situation. He heard Peggy take a deep breath.  
"Please, don’t do this. We have time. We can work it out." She sounded upset now, and he could hear the panic in her voice.   
"Right now I’m in the middle of nowhere. If I wait any longer a lot of people are gonna die."   
It was true. The ice still stretched beneath him, and he knew that even if the bomb did explode, no one would get hurt. He watched the coordinates change, numbers ticking past too fast. 

He squeezed his eyes shut for a second and pictured Peggy's face. He'd never seen her cry- he couldn't even picture it. He tried to imagine her smiling, like she had when he'd pulled that flag down. It was months ago, before the serum and Erskine was shot, before he was dragged around the country like a mascot, before the Howling Commandos, before the Red Skull, before Bucky fell. Before a catelogue of bullshit three miles long. 

"Peggy, this is my choice." It was now his voice finally cracked. He needed her to know. Not to think this was some stupid show of pageantry, or obligation of patriotism. It was a choice to stop a lot of people dying. 

There was a long stretch of silence. "Peggy?"  
Another deep breath. "I’m here." Of course she was. God, thank God for Peggy. She was always there. But he wasn't. He couldn't be.  
"I’m gonna need a rain check on that dance."   
An attempt at levity. Ill timed? Probably. But he wasn't going to leave her with sobs and heartfelt goodbyes. She deserved better than remembering a choked farewell over a static-filled radio.

He could hear her gathering herself on the other end of the line. It was a moment before she spoke.  
"Alright. A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club." Steve nodded.   
"You got it."  
"Eight o’clock on the dot. Don’t you dare be late. Understood?"  
He couldn't help but smile. As if he'd ever stand her up. He began forcing the stick forward, stomach tripping as the plane tilted.  
"You know, I still don’t know how to dance."  
"I’ll show you how. Just be there." It wasn't pleading, but it was close. Something he'd never heard from her before. He found himself nodding. The fake plan, although they both knew it as such, was helping. For a few more seconds, it was as if there was some way out, some way he could get back

The sea was coming up towards him quickly. The inky water bled through the cracks in the ice seemed impossibly deep, even as it raced towards the broken remains of the plane's front window.

"We’ll have the band play somethin’ slow. I’d hate to step on your…"  
He hit the water.

The force of the impact threw him forwards out of his seat, the straps holding him in place snapping under his weight. He collided with the now crumpled front section of the plane. His head smacked against the wall. Stars exploded behind his eyes as a thousand gallons of freezing water began flooding into the cockpit. He scrambled to get upright, although the rapidly shifting angle of the descending aircraft was making it difficult. The water reached his waist in seconds. 

He looked down, trying to figure out if there was any way for him to get out. The nose of the plane was still descending, and when he tried to drop down under the water, the pressure of the water rapidly filling the cockpit pushed him back up. It started getting faster as the weight of the water dragged the plane down. His heart pounded in his chest as the certainty that he was imminently about to die set in. It would be less than a minute before the water reached the ceiling of the plane.   
He closed his eyes, trying to think of anything good he could whilst he still had the chance. If he was going to die, he could at least choose to do so with good thoughts.   
Peggy, the Commandos, Howard, Ma, Bucky. The way Peggy had saved his life a dozen times and been completely unafraid to stare down anyone. The banter and bickering and long drunken nights with the Commandos. The light in Howard's eyes as he talked Steve through his prototypes and test results. The songs Ma sang in the kitchen, the stories she told him when he was sick as she stroked his hair. Bucky's shit-eating grin and stupid jokes. The way he would let Steve win when they wrestled.   
The water was now to his chest, pushing him up against the ceiling.  
Peggy's satisfied smile when he handed the commander that flag. Dum Dum's deafening belly laugh. Howard flirting with the secretary who would slap him silly at the first sign of trouble. Ma swaying with Steve on her hip to the wireless that barely worked. Bucky physically manhandling him away from schoolyard fights. A kiss on a motorbike, roughhousing over whisky, explosions, soft words and the smell of hospital disinfectant, forts made of couch cushions.   
He could feel the water around his nose and mouth. His instinct was to gasp at the cold as it touched his skin, but it just brought the water into his lungs. He coughed, throat burning, but again this just drew more in. His chest tightened again.  
He closed his eyes, trying to force himself to focus on his thoughts. He wouldn't panic, he wouldn't panic.   
Peggy, Ma, the Commandos, Howard, Bucky. Peggy, Ma, the Commandos, Howard, Bucky. Peggy, Ma, the Commandos, Howard, Bucky.  
He was fully submersed in the water now, chest screaming for air. Panic gnawed at him as he fought for breath. Peggy, Ma, the Commandos, Howard, Bucky. Peggy, Ma, the Commandos, Howard, Bucky. Peggy, Ma, the Commandos, Howard, Bucky. Fuck, he couldn't breath. He was dying, he was dying, he was dying, he couldn't do this. Peggy, Ma, the Commandos, Howard, Bucky. Peggy, Ma, the Commandos, Howard, Bucky.   
Everything was slipping away.  
Peggy, Ma, the Commandos, Howard, Bucky. Peggy, Ma, the Commandos, Howard, Bucky. He couldn't breath. Peggy, Ma, the Commandos, Howard, Bucky. Peggy, Ma, the Commandos, Howard, Bucky...

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**June 1975**

It was a few long minutes before Steve's brain registered the bright light behind his eyelids. It wasn't engaged enough for him to be aware of it. He drifted, swimming in the murk of his barely-conscious mind for a while. After about ten minutes he realised that he wasn't, in fact, dead. It was less of a thought and more of a vague awareness. An awareness of feeling after the absolute certainty of nothing further.   
At first he was aware of the light, and then of the fact that he was seeing it. That he was seeing at all. He tried to open his eyes, but every inch of him ached, and the awareness that there was pain brought him up further. He was suddenly conscious of his breathing, and how his chest burned. Slowly, he became aware of more of his body, sensation spreading out from his chest.   
Coherent thought took a little longer, as his brain tried to figure out how to function again after such a long time. It was groggy and muffled and not particularly intelligent thought but again it was just enough to make him aware that he was actually alive. Or perhaps he wasn't. Perhaps the first part of the afterlife was feeling as though you'd prefer there to be none. This hypothetical and the effort it required made it all hurt more.  
All of him felt heavy and weak, and it felt as though his brain was floating in a tank of water inside his head. He managed a quiet groan, but the sound hurt as it vibrated through him. 

"Steve?"   
A voice. A voice he knew. His brain wasn't quite engaged enough for names yet, but he knew the voice. His brain identified who it belonged to in a way he couldn't necessarily articulate in any proper way.   
He tried to open his eyes again and managed a crack. The light stung, but the pain was grounding. One feeling led into another, pain to awareness of feeling. He was lying down. He was warm. He had been so cold, suffocating, drowning, but now he was warm and he could breathe, though it hurt his chest.   
"Steve?" The voice again. "Are you awake?"

Peggy. Her name was Peggy. God, it was Peggy's voice. The light dimmed as his eyes adjusted. He gradually opened his eyes further. Something squeezed his hand. It must be Peggy.  
"Stay still. Just try to open your eyes." Steve finally managed it, though his eyes burned. "Turn your head slowly."  
After a moment and a lot of effort, he turned and Peggy's face swam into view. But it was wrong. Her hair was greying and the skin around her eyes was crinkled. That wasn't how she looked... 

She smiled, and it was definitely her. The smile was dazzling. There were tears in her eyes, and she wiped them on the back of her hand. She lent forward in her chair, resting her hands on Steve's knee.   
"Peggy." It came out slurred. She squeezed his knee.   
"It's alright. You're on a lot of drugs right now, but I'll explain everything soon. For the moment, you're alive, you're completely safe."  
"The water... I drowned."   
"No, Steve. It's alright. I'll explain later. Lay back and I'll be back with the doctor in a moment."

She stood and offered him a smile. "Just try and collect your head." She squeezed his knee again before leaving.   
Steve lay there, trying hard to keep his eyes open. The exposure to light was making the space behind his eyes throb painfully. All of him was in pain, and his brain- now starting to properly switch on- was ticking fast at the first opportunity. He still couldn't conjure a proper train of thought, but information was still processing. It was mainly sensory. The room was warm, and bright with a soft yellow light drifting in from somewhere behind him. He thought he must be in a bed, though his sense of position kept shifting. He wasn't dead, of this he was now fairly sure. Though he couldn't think of another explanation. 

After a few minutes, there was the sound of a door opening.  
"Captain Rogers. No, don't try to move. My name is Doctor Monroe. I'm just going to be looking you over now you're awake. Would you prefer Agent Carter to stay?"  
"Yes."  
The feeling of hands examining him was far away, and he just tried to focus on Peggy. His shirt was undone and he was prodded all over from face to stomach. After the doctor left, Peggy moved over and sat on the edge of the bed.   
"You should sleep." She said gently. "You'll be more lucid when you wake up, and I'll explain everything. They said the drugs that are muddling you will be out of your system in an hour or two."  
She muffled any protest he tried to make. "Sleep before you get stubborn."

 

As promised, the next time he woke after Peggy managed to shush him to sleep, he was a lot more aware of himself. The pains were largely gone, but he attributed that to probably being given different drugs. Peggy was once more sat beside his bed. As unfamiliar as he was with the prospect, it looked as though she had been crying. She looked up as he stirred, and was immediately composed again. 

"Steve."   
"Hey, Peg."  
A hand went to her mouth for a moment, but when she put it down she was smiling.   
"God, I almost didn't believe it. You're alive. You're alive."  
"Apparently. But I'm not sure how."  
Peggy lent forwards and took his hands.

Over the next few hours Peggy gently walked him through what had happened. After the plane broke through the ice and hit the water, the ice and ambient temperature froze the water inside and around the plane. He was apparently the only known survivor of cryogenic freezing- something they attributed to the serum. It was 1975.

They had won the war, Stalin and Hitler were dead, the SSR was now part of something called SHIELD, America had dropped an atomic bomb on Japan- though from Peggy's tone this was a bad decision-, there had been a panic over a nuclear base in Cuba about fifteen years ago, some people had been to the moon, segregation was no longer legal, Gerald Ford was the president... the list went on.   
But it was in a quiet voice she told him the fate of Howard Stark and his wife and child, and that Bucky's body had never been found. He noticed her wedding ring before she figured out how to tell him. He was one of the prisoners of war that the Commandos had liberated from a HYDRA blockade apparently, and she promised to introduce him. The news had numbed him for a little while. He knew it was only a portion of what he must have missed whilst he was gone. 

Steve was vastly overwhelmed by the time a nurse came in to suggest he sleep before they administered more drugs. His body had sustained substantial damage from the impact, near drowning, and then subsequent freezing, and although the serum was doing much of the work in repairing it, the healing process could be severely impacted by neglecting bed-rest and reparative drugs. Peggy squeezed his hand before leaving. She promised to be back the next day, and to monitor his re acclimation herself.   
After she left, Steve was left to lay there. He stared at the ceiling, brain completely abuzz. He tried going through everything he knew before, and everything he knew to be different. It didn't help much. When they came back to administer his drugs, they muddled his brain and he decided it was best to just try and sleep it off for a while.  
By the middle of the next morning, Steve had come to the conclusion that this whole situation was some sort of deluded fever dream as he died in the middle of the ocean- perhaps a way for his subconscious to give him some sort of closure before a pointless death. But Peggy came back with a cardboard box under her arm.   
"I'm sorry. I did make calls about your effects, but it seems it's all property of the United States Military, and you know how they are about giving things back. So I brought you some bits and bobs."   
She set the box down beside him. Steve sat up, leaning against the headboard. 

He slid the top off the box as Peggy sat in the chair beside the bed. Inside was mainly some books and folded clothes. Underneath were a couple of records and manilla envelopes clipped together with a paperclip. A bible sat neatly on top of the lot.   
"It's going to take a while to get used to things, but you know that. But it'll be easier if you're not stuck in hospital clothes. These are Daniel's. They're big on him but they might still be small on you. I didn't think it was polite to come at you with a measuring tape whilst you were asleep."  
"Thanks, Peg."  
"Sorry, I know you're still tired."  
"I think I've had enough sleep for this decade."  
"And as soon as I stop treating you like an invalid, I'll work you to death, I promise."  
"And when is that?"   
Peggy smiled. "When the doctor says I can."  
"You didn't have to do all of this."  
"Let's leave statements like those alone or we'll be here all day."

The statement was moot, because Steve was confined to bed for the next few days anyway. The doctor examined and prodded every inch of him and asked him a thousands questions he barely even registered answering. When he was finally allowed out of bed, he changed into some of the clothes Peggy had brought him. She was right about them being a little too small, but he felt better dressed in real pants and a shirt with buttons. They established there was no lasting damage from frostbite- most likely due to the serum-, and no muscle atrophy. Apparently his body's innate 'survival instinct' was much more intuitive than most, and his body temperature had dropped further than even seemed possible in order to minimise damage. The serum improved his body's capability for self repair a hundred fold, so any damage to his organs had been rectified with the help of the drugs they gave him.

They pushed him through physical therapy, gave him briefs on inflation, legal changes since the end of the war, the position with the USSR, social changes. The woman who did the last briefing was condescending as hell, treating him like was a senile old man from two hundred years ago. All things considered, they were probably born around the same time. They moved him out of the medical wing and upstairs into what was apparently a witness protection suite, but looked more like the bastard baby of a cell and the world's most depressing apartment. They wouldn't let him out of the building- obstinately because the news of his being found wasn't ready to go public yet. In his opinion, he may as well still be frozen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [THIS WON'T MAKE SENSE, BECAUSE I AM STILL REWRITING, AND I NEED TO SHIFT CHAPTERS OVER.]

**[THIS WON'T MAKE SENSE, BECAUSE I AM STILL REWRITING, AND I NEED TO SHIFT CHAPTERS OVER.]** The short and long of what's in between the last chapter and this point is that Steve has been more or less coerced into agreeing to work for SHIELD. During a basic mission meant to gently reintroduce him to the field with Agent Clint Barton and his team of new agents, they discovered what a research lab under what was supposed to just be a KGB warehouse. Upon further investigation, Steve discovered a small boy who was clearly the subject of some kind of medical experiment. He was less than happy to be taken away. **These plot-points will likely change as I re-write. Thank you all for being so patient. You're amazing.**

When they were over Pennsylvania, Barton handed Steve a couple of small polaroids. He nodded at him and tapped a camera smaller than Steve had seen before in his belt. Steve shifted so he had one arm around the boy and held up the pictures to examine. It was a wide, grimy room fitted with tiles over the walls and floor. A large tube stood in the back, a thick tangle of wires feeding into it and snaking across the floor to what looked like a generator and separate control panel. A chair which resembled something similar to what one would find in a dentist's office was in the middle of the room, with yet more wires trailing towards a bank of buttons. Steve held up the next photo. It was a close up of the chair from the side. A metal headbrace was attached to the head rest, as if for the intention of holding someone still. There were electrodes attached to it, feeding into the second control bank. Possibly most disturbingly, attached to the armrests was a set of unforgiving metal cuffs.  
"What in the hell?"  
"Next one." Said Barton. Steve flicked to it. It was a close up of the buttons and dials on the control bank. They were grimy and well worn, with labels typed in English and stuck on with tape. The one that caught Steve's eye was the largest, coloured a dirty grey. It sat next to a dial with numbers from 100 to 445. 'Shock' read the label. Next to it, the button was labelled 'Wipe'.

"So you think..." Steve nodded at the little boy. Barton shook his head.  
"No, it's the right size for an adult, not a little kid."  
"Then who are they using it on?"  
"Last picture." Said Barton. Steve shuffled around to it. It was the large tube. It was made of thick glass, the door wide open. The bottom was metal and coils were dotted over it.  
"What is it?" Asked Steve.  
"We think it's a cryo tube."  
"Excuse me?"  
"Cryonics. Freezing people. If they can't be cured, some people think that freezing them and reviving them when medicine's better is the solution. But the freezing kills them." He shrugged. "Present company excluded. SHIELD's been working on it since the war but hasn't got anywhere."  
"Maybe the Russians got there quicker."  
"That would mean every piece of information we have on their research is wrong."  
"It could be."  
"It could be." Barton conceded. "But I hope not."  
"Was there anything on who the kid was?" Barton shook his head.  
"We had a quick look through the files. They just mention 'the Subject'. And either they have a six week file turnover or the kid's not been there very long." 

Steve shifted the boy in his lap. He frowned and let out a little whine. Steve removed his hand but it was too late- within three seconds the kid had blinked awake, sat bolt upright and scrambled off Steve's lap and onto the floor. He scooted away from him, but hit Barton's shins; he squeaked in surprise and bolted towards the back of the plane. Steve got to his feet and moved to follow as the others looked around at the commotion. The boy was huddled in a ball pressed right back against the plane's back wall. He looked up at Steve, wide-eyed and terrified. Steve raised his palms and crouched in front of him. "Hey, kiddo." He said softly. "I'm not going to hurt you, my name is Steve." The boy curled up tighter, shaking his head and still staring at him.  
"Can you speak English?" Steve asked, trying to keep his tone as gentle as possible. The boy kept his eyes trained on Steve and said nothing. "My name is Steve." He repeated, pointing at himself and speaking slowly. "I'm not going to hurt you."  
The boy stared at his face for a few long seconds before nodding slowly. Steve mirrored his action. "What's your name?" The boy shook his head vehemently and curled in on himself. "Okay, okay. You don't have to. I'm Steve." He boy uncurled slightly but stayed far away from him. "We want to take you somewhere safe." The boy's eyes widened and he immediately covered his upper arms with his hands. Steve frowned, then remembered the IV lines he'd pulled from the kid's arms. "No one is going to hurt you or inject you with anything." He held out a hand, palm up, showing him he wasn't holding anything. The boy looked at it, then nodded at the other one, which Steve opened. After examining them, he uncurled a little more, still keeping a wary distance. Steve smiled at him. "Well done." The kid's attention snapped to the other agents, who were watching the scene from the front of the plane. Steve followed his gaze and nodded at Barton, who made a spinning motion with his finger at the other agents.  
"I know McKinley has an ass to kill for, but we just had harassment training and I'll report all of you."  
Steve sat there for the rest of the journey, hands outstretched. The others talked amongst themselves, and only Barton spoke to either of them, and only to tell Steve that they were landing soon. The kid stayed curled up at the back of the plane, staring at Steve as if trying to figure him out. When the plane came to a juddery landing half an hour later, the kid became even more agitated, glancing round frantically.  
"We have to get off the plane." Steve told him gently. He kid just stared at him, wide eyed. Barton ushered the others off while Steve tried to coerce him to follow him. An attempt to pick him up resulted in screaming, as did trying to hold his hand.  
"When we get off the plane, will you stay close to me?" Steve asked very slowly, still unsure whether or not he could even understand him. The boy shrank in on himself, gripping the fabric of his pants until his knuckles turned white. Steve tapped his own leg with two fingers, then took a handful of material. "Hold onto this?" He asked, demonstrating by giving it a tug. He stood up and patted his thigh. It took a good twenty seconds before the boy moved, uncurling himself and very slowly taking hold of the material at Steve's knee. Steve gave him an encouraging smile.

It took them fifteen minutes to get off the plane, the boy clinging tightly to Steve's leg. Evidently he was still scared of Steve, but even more so of everything going on around him, as he knew Steve wasn't holding anything to hurt him with. He didn't know what to do- take the child to a doctor probably, but something in his gut twisted uneasily.  
Luckily, Barton had good timing. He met them on the runway with a smile.  
"We have debrief. Usually, it wouldn't be very long, but..." He shrugged, wiggling his fingers at the boy, who pressed himself closer to Steve. "Extenuating circumstances. It's a guarantee you can ask a higher authority what to do about our little buddy. They know we're back and Pierce is waiting." He lead the way down to a conference room, returning every perplexed stare they received with finger guns. Steve was quickly warming to Agent Barton. The kid obviously didn't like being the centre of attention, and pushed himself so close to Steve's leg that he nearly tripped over him twice, but he didn't complain, keeping his eyes focused on the floor. Alexander Pierce greeted them with a warm smile, and only raised an eyebrow at their unexpected companion.  
"I see we had a complication."  
"There was a lab no one told us about. Paulson stayed behind until the local team gets there."  
"Good. Did you get a good look?"  
"It looked like cryonics. Old school cryonics." Said Barton, handing the polaroids to Pierce. The boy clung to Steve tightly, watching Pierce with wide eyes. Pierce smiled at him and knelt down to his level. The kid darted behind Steve's leg.  
"Hello." Said Pierce gently. "What's your name?"  
"He doesn't like talking." Said Steve. Pierce smiled and nodded before straightening up.  
"Thank you, agent Rogers." He said. "We'll be in contact with child protective services. You can leave him with Agent Callahan outside." The boy held tight to Steve's leg and whined.  
"With respect, sir, I don't think that's a good idea." Said Steve. "I think I should look after him until arrangements are made."  
Pierce smiled. "A noble sentiment, Captain, but there's no need, we have a protocol for situations such as these. CPS will be contacted immediately."  
"He won't come near anyone else. I think uniformed agents scare him. I'd rather not leave him with anyone else until we find out who his parents are."  
Pierce sighed. "Very well. Take him to the medical wing and I'll have Agent Callahan organise with the CPS as quickly as possible."

Steve went to find a vacant conference room, having no intention of taking the boy to a doctor just yet. He had no doubt he would need one, but considering the circumstances in which he was found, it would probably scare him. He was clinging tight to Steve's leg still, but when they picked a room, he immediately hurried to the far corner of the room and curled in on himself. Barton managed to find a pack of crayons and pad of paper from somewhere and handed them to Steve. Steve crouched a few feet away from the boy and slid them over to him. He stared at them, then up at Steve, as if he was asking what it was he was supposed to do.  
"You can draw if you like." Steve told him gently. "Or write. Can you write your name?"  
The boy curled up away from him, and Steve retreated a few more feet. The boy kept staring at him as he stood up and retreated to speak to Agent Barton. He continued to stare at Steve as they talked before uncurling slightly. He reached for the crayons and snatched them to his chest. He froze whenever either of them looked at him, so Steve turned to Agent Barton and made a point of not facing the little boy. They only managed to talk for about a minute, before the door clicked open and shut. Steve whipped around but the boy was gone.  
"Slippery little jerk." Muttered Barton, reaching for the radio on his belt. Steve caught his wrist.  
"He can't've gone far. Don't scare him shitless by sending the cavalry after him." Barton nodded.  
"Let's just find him before Pierce hauls him off to the CPS."  
Steve nodded, but didn't voice his thought that the insistence on doing so was odd. They set off at a jog down the hall, causing a few people to shoot them confused looks. Neither bothered to ask if anyone had seen the kid, as about a hundred feet down from the conference room, a couple of agents were staring at a vent in confusion. 

"Did a little kid crawl in there by any chance?" Asked Barton, as he pushed through them.  
"Tried to grab him." Said one of them- a woman with a thick New Jersey accent. "Kicked me right off."  
Barton squatted down and began prying the vent cover up. It was only about three square feet and swung upwards on a hinge. Steve crouched down behind Barton and peered into the vent. There was a filtering grate a few feet back, and the boy was curled up, back pressed against it. His eyes were wide, even as Steve gave him a reassuring smile.  
"Can you come out of there, kiddo?" Asked Barton gently. "Only me and big blondie over here'll come near you." He patted Steve's shoulder. The boy mumbled something quietly. "What was that, bud?" He uncurled very slightly, but didn't move towards them.  
"Captain America." His voice was very hoarse, and so quiet it was difficult to hear. Steve nodded.  
"Yeah, yeah I'm Captain America." Steve whispered but the boy shook his head.  
"Net!"  
"Excuse me?"  
"Net, net! Eto nespravedlivo!"  
Steve looked over at Barton, who only shrugged. "Russian?" He mouthed at him. Steve turned back to the boy, who was srunched up in a ball again. He raised his palms, just as he had on the plane. "No one's gonna hurt you." He looked over at Barton. "Can you get Agent Carter?"  
"We have linguists."  
"I trust her a lot more not to tell Pierce, or someone else who'll call the CPS." Barton nodded and got up. He shooed the other agents away and jogged off up the hall as Steve turned back to the boy. "You know who I am, don't you?" He asked gently. "How did you know I'm Captain America?"  
The boy shook his head vehemently and curled in on himself tightly. "Prosti! Prosti!"  
"It's okay. Can you come out of there? No one will touch you or hurt you." He stared at Steve intently, looking terrified. 

It was a few long minutes before Steve felt a hand on his shoulder. He moved aside so Peggy could crouch in his place, though he wasn't sure what he was expecting. It certainly wasn't for Peggy to cover her hands with her mouth, tears welling in her eyes.  
"Peg?"  
She extended a hand towards the boy, sinking from the balls of her feet to her knees. "Oh my darling." Her voice cracked as she spoke, and the child looked like he too was going to start crying. "Would you come and give your auntie Peggy a cuddle because she's missed you so very much and she's so pleased to see you?" Aunty Peggy?  
The boy shook his head, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Eto nespravedlivo! nichego ne skazal! Prekrati!"  
"It's me, sweetheart, and I know someone else who'll be so happy you're safe." She turned to Barton. "Agent Barton, would you please find Agent Sousa and ask him to retrieve Paddington Bear from my desk?" Barton looked confused, but went to do as he was asked. For the long ten minutes until he got back, Peggy kept speaking softly, switching between Russian and English, ignoring Steve. Eventually, Barton returned with a man Steve hadn't met before. He walked with the aid of a crutch and held a small stuffed bear in his free hand. It wore a blue duffel coat and red hat. He handed it to Peggy.  
"Is it really-" She cut him off with a raised hand and turned back to the boy. She held out the bear.  
"I know Paddington's missed you very much. He's been living in my desk and hasn't had nearly enough hugs." He stared at it, chest heaving with unconcealable sobs. He shook his head. "I think you promised you'd look after him. And right now he needs a cuddle." He reached out a tentative hand and Peggy gave him an encouraging nod. She put down the bear and removed her hand. After a long few seconds, he scooted forward and picked it up gingerly, as if it might bite him. He then immediately turned it over and inspected the inside of its right leg. It was a few seconds before he was satisfied, hugging it close to his chest. He stuck his thumb in his mouth and curled up, looking at Peggy. "It's really you?" He asked around the thumb.  
Peggy nodded, looking as though she was about to cry. "Yes, darling, it's really me." Suddenly, the boy scrambled forward out of the vent and threw his arms around Peggy's neck. She hugged him tightly for a few seconds before standing up, lifting him with her and resting him on her hip. He buried his face in her shoulder and cuddled into her, shaking. She rubbed his back and looked over at Steve, her cheeks now wet with tears.  
"Thank goodness for you, Steve. Thank goodness for you."  
"Peg, what's going on, who-"  
"This is Tony, Howard Stark's son."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you think!


	3. Author's Notice

Hello! I know there hasn't been an update in a while, and I'm sorry! I've started uni and been very busy with rehearsals and written work, etc. But I'm still very interested in this story and have a plan for it! However, it involves rewriting large parts of the beginning just to tidy things up so I'm happy with it before carrying on. I'll take the chapters down and replace them with the new versions individually, so please excuse some mess for a while. Thank you so much for being patient with me and for all the lovely, supportive comments. 


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